Manhattan – after midnight:
While Logan runs down the street, he thinks to himself that he needed to be out of New York five minutes ago. He needs to get some distance, see who follows him. This can’t be McLeish. McLeish is a ten-year-old black scrap o’ garbage at the bottom of Hong Kong harbor. Hell, he’d be sixty years old and in a wheelchair if he were alive. McLeish on a vendetta kills all the target’s friends. Logan knows he needs to be away from the X-Men, away from everybody he knows. He needs to get his bike out of lock-up, hit the road. All the things he’s probably expectin’ him to do. Damn.
Just then, two cars converge on Logan and crash head-on, trapping him in between. Logan’s body is pinned, his legs are ruined, like he’s in a blasted bear trap. One of the drivers of the cars is dead, the other one – very much alive. As Logan tries to free himself, the driver pulls out his gun, points it at Logan, and tells him that McLeish says “hello” much to the shock and horror of Logan.
Hong Kong, nearly a decade ago:
While it rains outside and McLeish and Logan enjoy whiskey and cigarettes, McLeish tells him in the back room of his house that the only sure way to kill a man instantly, and wi’ no pain, is to put a big bullet in his temple. If he likes a man, he’ll put his kill shot there. No point to a decent man who’s only made one mistake dying unpleasantly. If a murderer has no respect, he’s nae better than some greedy wild animal killin’ more than he can eat.
He asks Logan if he agrees. Logan tells him that he’s a hunter from way back, y’ never kill more ‘n you can eat. McLeish inquires if he’s still a hunter. Logan informs him he ain’t much of anything right now. He’s enjoyin’ the quiet while he can. Speakin’ o’ which, he’s about had it with his party there, he’s gonna head home. McLeish tells him to come oan. It’s not often there’s a get-together like this. Pointing out to the crowd he tells him to look at them. The most successful paid killers in the world, all come to Hong Kong for a drink wi’ their own. Walking through the crowd, Logan tells him they’re his. McLeish admits that they are but he likes him (Logan) too.
Manhattan – tonight:
Facing off against the gunman, Logan recognizes that he’s cocky and that he hasn’t even taken first pressure on the trigger. He’s been told to make this a clean kill in McLeish’s style, but he’s just going to crank one off lazily because what is he going to do. So he’s going to fire quickly, without prep or support, and then the gun will jump in his hand. When that happens, he’s got a chance.
As the gunman shoots, Logan moves his head at the last second and the bullet only grazes the side of his head. Popping his claws, Logan hooks the gun and drags the man closer to him. Grabbing him by the throat, he asks him where McLeish is. The gunman begins to panic and yells at Logan to get off of him. Logan replies to tell him where McLeish is or he swears to god he’ll throw his guts on the street. The gunman replies by shooting him in the chest. When he does so, Logan, in a red rage, angrily squeezes the man’s throat.
When the man falls to the ground, Logan begins to free himself from being pinned. While he does so he thinks to himself that he didn’t lose it. He stopped short of killing him – he’s out from pain and shock. The feral side o’ him coming out as his healing factor kicks into overdrive. He’s still on the verge o’ losin’ it again, and for good. Is this what he wants? Does he want him insane with a berserker rage, thinkin’ like a wounded animal? After pushing himself free of the cars, he drags himself across the street while his legs are still mangled. He needs to keep moving and trust in the healing factor. No one around moves but him. All he can smell is the fear of the onlookers and his blood. They never seen moving road kill before.
Hong Kong – the past:
In a bar, Logan enjoys a drink with McLeish and tells him that he has a temper like he’s never seen. McLeish remarks that he seems to remember the night he met him. Logan says those cops, huh. Some gweilos they like, some gweilos they don’t. The ones that stink o’ beer and don’t look rich ain’t on their love list. McLeish adds that he thought he was going to kill them all. Logan tells him he was. That’s what he means about his temper. He stops thinkin’ like a man. He’s been in a couple of wars. Some you know about, some you don’t. In wartime, he’s done things. No one was the same after seein’ the things he did when his blood was up – bad things. He has a berserker temper and it’s the worst thing in the world for him as well as whoever’s in front o’ him, enemy or friend. He stops thinkin’.
Tonight – Manhattan:
Now erect, Logan thinks to himself that he’s walkin’. His body ain’t happy about it. His vision’s blurry, going red at the edges. His brain’s stood on end and it’s takin’ a serious effort o’ will to stop from going on all fours, barkin’ and eatin’ folk. When he reaches the motorcycle shop, he stops in front of one of the doors. Popping his claws, he jams it through the door. When he does, it finds it’s mark in the wrist of the gunman on the other side. Rearing back, Logan punches through the door, knocking him out.
Entering the warehouse, Logan stands over the gunman and thinks to himself that he ought to rip off some of his denim and bandage the guy’s wrist to kill the bleeding. He decides against it because the gunman wasn’t going to do him a similar favor, and he ain’t in a charitable mood. It’s not exactly a mortal wound, anyways. Must hurt like all get-out though. Over in the corner, Logan sees his bike. It smells clean – no bombs, no surprises. Another sloppy killer, probably not what McLeish told him to do. Can’t get good help these days. Hopping on his bike, Logan takes off down the street. He has to get out of Manhattan, into the wild. He can’t let the animal take over, can’t give McLeish that. He has to get out and think.
In a group of snowy cabins out in the woods, a shadowy man in a rocking chair sits alone in one of them. Operating a radio, he tells the voice on the other end to speak. The voice informs him that Logan’s leaving the city in just the manner he predicted – headed upstate into the wild and coming his way. As a tear begins to come down his face, he begins to laugh. When he does, he starts to cough and spits up a big thing of blood. He then says that it’s been a lot of years for him and Logan but he’s finally coming to see him, isn’t that sweet. He’s got the banners out in this little town for him. A hero’s welcome. Taking a swig of whiskey he says it’s the road of hate he, Logan, is traveling and he’s not dead yet.